


Dreams

by lacemonster



Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [15]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Guilt, M/M, Manipulation, Moral Dilemmas, Out of Character, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: Joey has always had feelings for Dick. When he discovers the true nature of Dick and Slade's relationship, Joey confronts his father, and in that, finds opportunity.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Joseph Wilson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1181402
Comments: 11
Kudos: 115





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/gifts).



> Thank you so much Quil for this prompt! JoeyDick is such a good ship and I've always wanted to tackle them.
> 
> All readers, please pay attention to the tags. This fic involves manipulation and non-con and features a much darker Joey Wilson. If none of that interests you, please don't read. Any upset comments that did not abide by the tags/warnings will be ignored and deleted.

Joey’s childhood felt so long ago that it seemed more like a dream. Sometimes he found it better not to think about the past, not just because of the pain, but because it seemed so unreal. It was strange to think that he once had a home with both of his parents. That he had a voice. That he had a brother. 

He stood awkwardly in one of his father’s many lofts, his eyes roaming the walls, as if expecting a piece of furniture or a family portrait taken from that childhood home. But there was nothing to evidence that that life had even existed. The two people in that room had grown into completely different men.

Slade said nothing as he crossed the room to the kitchen island, pouring himself a coffee. Joey knew it wasn’t a home, not really. Slade had properties around the globe. They were his bunkers. But this place had all the luxuries of a normal home—kitchen gadgets, entertainment systems. It even had decorations, as bare as they were. But something about the place felt empty. It was almost too put-together, something out of a catalog or showcase room, lacking the strewn items or carpet stains that indicated a well-worn home. A shell with no soul.

Slade was similarly out of place, wearing casual civilian clothes, continuing his morning routine as if he wasn’t sharing a room with his son who he had a rocky relationship with.

Joey could never handle silence well.

“This is all I’ve asked of you,” Joey signed once he had Slade’s attention.

Slade looked at him. Nothing shifted in that one cold eye that stared back at him.

“Why don’t you say any of this to him? He’s the one who comes to me,” Slade said.

He sipped from his coffee. Joey had never wanted to slap something out of someone’s hand before. His father wasn’t taking this seriously. Wasn’t taking _him_ seriously.

Dick Grayson was more than just a casual coffee-break conversation. At least to Joey.

Joey shook his head, making the exasperation on his face known.

“He’s clearly not in the right state of mind,” Joey signed. When Slade sipped from his coffee again, Joey lost his patience. He crossed the room in just a few strides, his hand pushing down on the top of the mug, pinning it back to the counter with a sound. When Slade looked at him, Joey’s hands moved rapidly, baring his teeth as he mouthed each word. “Look at me when I’m talking to you. You at least owe me that.”

To Joey’s surprise, Slade leaned in closer, their gazes firmly locked.

“If you want him, take him. You know how.”

Joey bristled at that. Suddenly, Slade’s eye contact felt wrong. Joey pulled back a few steps, averting his gaze until he was ready to talk again.

“What are you implying?” he signed.

“All’s fair in love and war—or so I’ve been told,” Slade said. Joey burned at that. It really wasn’t love, not for Slade. Not really.

“Some of us have morals,” Joey signed, but it felt like a weak response. He believed in his answer, but his heart was racing. He kept turning over the ideas that his father had just implanted into his head.

Slade didn’t actually think Joey would do it. He was just antagonizing him.

But Joey hated himself for even thinking about it, even as just a possibility.

“How many times do I have to tell you? There’s no such thing as right and wrong. You survive or you die. You win or you lose. You get one life and it can end at any moment, so take what you want and don’t fuck with morality and guilt and whatever other bullshit your schools and teammates have tried to feed you.”

When Joey just stood there, Slade shook his head.

“You try too hard to please people. You’ve always been like that.”

At that, Joey’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t get to tell me what I am. You don’t know anything about me. You lost that,” he signed. He turned sharply in the direction of the exit. Slade didn’t call after him, didn’t try to chase him. Joey could still see him in his head, even as he put his hand on the doorknob.

He paused there, at the exit. Still seeing him. Seeing Slade standing there, drinking his coffee, like nothing happened.

Like none of it mattered.

Joey’s grip around the doorknob tightened.

_Leave._

It always felt like there were two voices inside of his head. Two voices that were always at war whenever he felt like he was becoming too much like his father.

_Be the better person,_ he told himself. 

_Don’t become him._

Joey looked in the mirror, his father staring back at him. Pops had barely aged. When Joey looked at that face with the scarred eye, he could still vividly revisit the day that changed his family forever. Him, choking on his own blood, his mother’s bullet blowing through the back of his father’s head—every drop of blood, every echo of that gunshot, still resonated in his memories.

He could barely remember who he was before that moment. The birthday parties, the hunting trips, the music recitals. They were all just visceral moments strung together by a thin thread. But that one night always stuck with him. One memory, one moment, that dashed away everything.

Joey pulled back from the mirror, getting a feel of every muscle that followed him, tethered to his soul. He felt clumsy in his father’s body. The missing eye messed with his perspective. The bulky frame seemed ready to knock things over. It didn’t fit Joey. Not like the other bodies he possessed. Sometimes there was a match, an instant comfort. But his father, who he shared blood with, couldn’t have felt more different from him.

Is this what Dick liked?

It was a question that Joey was afraid to ask himself, even though he already knew the answer. Dick liked hands calloused by war, not from playing guitar. Dick liked bodies built for battle, not just bodies that exercised for personal betterment. 

Dick did like scars. Raised cuts and bulletmarks that had healed but still left a map of every injury, every kill. 

He didn’t care about Joey’s scar and the people responsible for it.

Joey stood every inch and pound of Dick’s idealized man and yet, he had never felt more insecure.

He turned around. His own body had slumped up against the door. As he carefully set himself up in the corner of the room, he looked down at his hands. His father’s hands. His father’s hands as they carefully touched his body for the first time in months, maybe years, maybe ever.

It's hard to remember forever.

He exited the room. He found himself back in that same space where he spoke with his father over coffee earlier that day. Joey found himself tracing his father’s steps, setting up the coffee machine with no intention of actually drinking whatever it made. He told himself he was just getting into character.

Strange, how easily it had been to pretend to be that nurse, or that bartender, or that musician, or all of the other strangers before his dad. And now suddenly, it was the hardest thing. He’d never be enough.

The clock on the stove told Joey that the time was drawing near. The coffee maker had already filled the pot when there was a knock on the door.

Joey answered it. Dick lifted his head, their gazes meeting. Joey was surprised to see the touch of shame that graced Dick’s expression. It was the only sign that stopped Joey from greeting Dick out of character—stopped him from cracking a smile and moving his hands like he normally did. Instead, Joey resorted to his father’s usual silences. He left the door open and walked ahead of Dick, trying to appear careless. In reality, his heart was hammering.

There was no greeting. Dick and Slade had their own process of doing things. Dick knew exactly where the bedroom was, and he was already cutting toward it. With every step that Joey trailed after him, his heart pounded. Joey kept anticipating the moment where Dick would out him as the imposter. 

He kept anticipating the moment where he willingly outed himself.

_Leave. Be the better person. Don’t become him._

All the way to the bedroom, Joey kept to his silences and Dick didn’t question them.

Their first kiss was too quick for Joey’s liking. They were barely in the doorway when Dick captured his mouth. Joey had imagined kissing Dick countless times. The reality was too harsh, too much teeth. It had nothing of the fantasy and romance that Joey dreamed of. Dick wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. The demanding way his mouth pulled at Joey’s lips, the force and heat of his kiss, felt aggressive. Joey felt like he was being challenged, dared.

When Joey only returned Dick’s kisses with slowness, took too long in savoring the taste and feel of Dick’s lips and tongue—it was then that Dick finally pulled away.

“What’s with you today?” Dick said, murmuring against his lips. 

Joey read the meaning of those words. _Why are you being so gentle?_

Pretending to be his father would allow him access to who he otherwise would never have, but it would never give Joey what he wanted. He wouldn’t be able to take Dick gently, lovingly. Joey had one moment, one chance, to be with Dick—but he wouldn’t be able to savor every touch, every taste. He would have to do it his father’s way—harsh, fast, unfeeling. 

Joey cut the foreplay. He pulled Dick to the bed, pushing him down to the mattress. Dick looked up, big blue eyes staring at Joey with a mixture of desire and apprehension. Joey sucked in a breath, having never seen that face. Dick was beautiful. But he was even more beautiful when he looked up at him with those hints of devotion, as twisted and crazed as they were. The thought of their relationship made an intense jealousy rise up inside of Joey’s chest. His father took this for granted every night.

_Focus._ He was in too deep to stop now. That’s what he told himself to keep going. It was his excuse.

Joey moved toward Dick, the shadow of a greater man eclipsing Dick. He saw the subtle changes in Dick’s body—the way he held his breath, the intense gaze. He was predicting Slade’s every movement, yet challenging him to do something unexpected. Joey wasn’t sure if he could give him what he wanted. He could only think so much like Slade.

Dick’s hands reached for him, pulling at his belt. Those quick, nimble hands worked at what remained of his clothing.

Joey felt as nervous as a virgin. His hands felt clammy, his head was spinning. Dick pulled Joey’s clothing to his knees. When he stopped and looked, his expression said more than any words that could have followed.

“Do you not want to—”

“Stop talking,” Joey said, quick and hard.

He hated how easily Dick obeyed. It didn’t speak to the Dick that Joey knew—the one who rebelled against Batman, the one who led the Titans, the one who took risks. But Dick was completely under his father’s control. 

Dick said nothing as he took Joey into his mouth. Joey silently breathed in. His heart was still racing, nerves shaking. But he could slowly find himself easing into his role, Dick making him forget everything with every inviting lick and suck. Joey’s thoughts were filled with nothing but the sensations of Dick’s mouth around him. His lips were soft. His mouth warm and wet. Tongue like velvet. Dick placed his hands on his hips, holding Joey in place as he bobbed his head along his cock, bringing him to arousal. Joey felt himself growing harder with every pull, Dick’s mouth massaging his growing erection with every gentle suck, that tongue sinfully stroking the underside of his length every time he pulled back.

Joey heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper. Dick’s hands had moved to take off his own jeans. Joey’s face burned at the sight of Dick’s bare skin, his clothes moving over the curve of his ass.

Dick’s breath hitched as he touched himself, breathing hard around the cock stuffed inside of his mouth. Joey reacted to Dick’s arousal, his own cock throbbing inside of that tight, wet mouth. Joey’s breath quickened, hyperfocused on Dick, gazing at the way his long eyelashes lowered over his eyes, his mouth stuffed full of cock, cheeks hollowed, hand desperately pumping his erection.

Dick got off on this. He got off on sucking cock. Sucking Slade off. Every muffled moan made that clear. 

It should have made Joey sick. It disgusted him, thinking about Slade using him like this.

But wasn’t Joey using him, too?

Worse still, Dick didn’t even want him, he wanted Slade. So that made Joey a user and a liar.

_Take what you want._

Dick started to move faster. His expert lips and tongue repeatedly stroking Joey’s cock, building up the pleasure and heat pooling in his groin. Joey clenched his teeth, too afraid a single sound would reveal his identity, but it was difficult not to. Not when Dick was sucking him that good. Not when his mouth was wet and hot and inviting, taking his cock over and over. Not when he took in every inch, his throat tightening and seizing up around him.

Not when he was kneeling there, moaning, getting off on every action. Sucking him like he wanted—needed—to swallow Slade’s come.

Joey’s breath hitched when Dick’s hand moved, now sliding down the crease of his ass. From where Joey stood, he could see every movement. He watched as Dick penetrated himself with his own fingers. At that, Joey felt a groan grumble through his throat, in his father’s voice. _Fuck._ Dick’s fingers pushed up inside of him, deep, right to the knuckles. He took them so easily. How often did he fuck himself like that? How often did Slade fuck him like that, keeping him open and ready?

Already, just from fingering himself, Dick looked so desperate, needy. Joey could see the pleasure that contorted his face, the way his fingers desperately pumped into his body, the way his nostrils flared with every quickened breath.

Dick wanted to get fucked. Needed to get fucked. And Joey should have hated himself for what he was doing, but now he was convincing himself that Dick needed this. Dick would never want Joey, so the best Joey could do was give Dick his father. Give him what he wanted.

Dick’s hand quickened, repeatedly thrusting into himself. All the while, he moaned around the cock in his mouth. His movements were getting sloppy, his mouth trying to keep up with the rhythm of his fingering, but his coordination was losing control. Joey was finding it hard to focus on everything happening. The sights and sensations made his head hazy. Dick’s mouth was so wet, so perfect.

Dick was shaking when he finally pulled off of him. His mouth was red, swollen, glistening. He looked up at Joey and it took all of Joey’s self-control to not come right there. Those pretty blue eyes and thick lashes beckoned him, his sexed-out gaze and flushed face deserving to be marked with a thick load of come. Dick looked up at with an almost pleading sort of expression, and heat rushed through Joey’s body at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” Dick mumbled out. He was hard, his cock flushed and panting, his hand still desperately fucking into his body, thighs easing apart to better take his own hand. Before Joey could even think to ask him what he was apologizing for, Dick added, “I can’t hold out any longer.”

Joey supposed he was pretty merciful compared to his father. Joey judged the grace of shame in Dick’s expression and couldn’t help but wonder how many times his father told him _no._ Wondered how many times Slade grabbed Dick by the hair, forcefully fucking his mouth, making him drink his seed. Would Slade force Dick to hold off on coming, or did let Dick climax and then fuck his ass anyways? 

Joey didn’t want to know. He didn’t even think. All he could focus on was his own pulsing erection, the desire to have Dick, how _badly_ he wanted him, how eagerly he wanted him.

Lucky for Dick, Joey didn’t want to wait. He climbed onto the bed next to Dick without any type of conversation or talk. Dick quickly pulled at their clothes, stripping them both of their last garments, and turned over on the mattress.

The way Dick spread himself out on the bed—hands and knees, legs spread, ass on complete display—made Joey’s body burn impossibly hotter. Dick was presenting himself. 

_Whore,_ was the first through that crossed Joey’s mind. Was it his thought or his father’s influence? Either way, it echoed across his brain—

_Slut. Dirty fucking slut._

How badly did Dick want to jerk himself off right now? His cock hung between his legs, the tip leaking with precum. Joey didn’t resist stealing a touch, his hand running over the length of Dick’s smooth cock and balls. Dick wasn’t expecting it, judging by his gasp. The sound made Joey shudder, encouraged him to keep going.

His hand wrapped around Dick’s cock, getting a feel for it, letting the heat and shape of it rest against his palm. He silently observed the way Dick’s thighs quaked at his touch, he judged how strong of a reaction he elicited just by grabbing him.

Joey almost believed that was the extent of Slade’s power over Dick—that even a simple touch could turn Dick on this badly—up until he heard the soft, questioning, almost nervous voice:

“Slade?”

Joey frowned at that.

He slowly started to pump Dick’s cock. He leaked against Joey’s palm, cock throbbing in his grip. Almost instantly Dick was moaning and gasping. His hands curled in the sheets. His inhales drew in sharply.

Joey watched, both mesmerized and horrified. Dick trembled in place, seeming to want to rock against Joey’s hand, to fuck into his grip, and yet he was holding himself back, why was he holding back—

“He doesn’t touch you.”

Joey felt he had been silent his whole life. He couldn’t even decide if his words were a slip of the tongue or if he was just tired of shutting up.

“What?” Dick said, looking over his shoulder at him, not sure if he had misheard.

It almost made Joey sad.

When did Dick starting doubting himself so much?

But then the thought of it pissed Joey off. A simmering rage burned through him. He removed his hands, drawing in close to Dick’s body. Finally, Dick was going to get what he wanted—but now he was hesitant, constantly looking over his shoulder—

Joey spit on his hand, lining up his cock with Dick’s open entrance—

“Your eye—”Dick started to say, but Joey wasn’t listening. He didn’t care anymore.

All Slade did was take and take and take. He turned Joey into what he was. He took Joey’s childhood, his voice, his love. He turned him into a ghost, someone who could possess bodies but never have his own life, never have anything of his own—

Slade controlled everything, everyone. He stripped people of their power. He turned them into shells.

“Joey?”

Joey’s heart nearly stopped.

He looked down at Dick, whose eyes were looking back at him, big and wide. 

It wasn’t a question. Dick knew who he was, he just couldn’t believe it.

Staring into that knowing gaze terrified Joey. 

_Leave. Be a better person. Don’t become him._

But Joey had already made his choice.

Again and again, he crawled through his desperation and it all led him here, to this point.

He wasn’t turning back now.

He moved forward. Immediately, Dick threw a hand up, trying to push Joey away. But Joey was stronger now. He knocked Dick’s hand away. In moments, he grabbed hold of the back of Dick’s hair and shoved his face into the mattress. He kept his hand there, pinning Dick to the bed. The moment Dick started to protest, started to thrash, started to breathe harder and quicker, Joey just pushed down that much harder and spoke up:

“Stop talking.”

It stunned Dick, his fight ceasing.

_Finally_ , Joey thought. His father’s voice finally felt like his own.

This would be his only chance. Things with Dick would never be the same. _No_ , it was ruined from the beginning, all because of Slade.

_Just take what you want._

Joey shoved forward, entering Dick. Dick started to protest again, but his voice was lost in the bed. Joey ignored him, burying his cock deeper inside of Dick, inch by inch sliding in. It was almost too easy, Dick’s body too trained to the shape of Slade’s cock to even offer up any resistance. 

By the time he was down to the base, feeling Dick’s body for the first time, Joey felt different. His father’s strength had become his own, barely feeling any strain in his arm as he kept Dick planted into the mattress. Dick writhed and twisted underneath him, but barely budged. Joey bit back a groan, Dick’s squirming and tension only increasing the pleasure around his cock.

Dick spoke, but his voice had no power. Joey only focused on the sounds of his groans as he was penetrated. He started to rock into Dick’s body. Hips rolling forward. How easily he slipped into him. How easy it was to thrust deep and hard. How easy it was to fuck him. 

With every movement, Joey felt a rhythm picking up. Every plunge into Dick’s hot body only made Joey crave more. The friction, the squeeze around his cock, was unlike anything he had ever felt.

He was fucking Dick. Fucking him hard, fast. With every shove forward, he could hear their bodies colliding. Every thrust was punctuated by Joey’s own racing heart and thoughts. He ignored the way Dick writhed and bucked underneath him, trying to escape his grip, the way his muffled voice protested into the sheets, the way his hand tried to pull Joey’s arm away—all Joey could focus on was the tight squeeze around his cock, the delicious friction of Dick’s body, the heat and the sweat that began to break out on his brow.

With every thrust, he stared down at Dick’s body. The body he had desired for so long. The strong shoulders, the long back, the dimples of venus, the curve of his ass. He remembered every wish, every desire, to have this beautiful body tucked under him, every inch of perfect skin.

It was enough to forget the guilt.

Joey focused on Dick, unblinking. With every shove forward, Joey saw his father’s cock disappear into Dick’s body—but if he stopped thinking, if he just focused on the heat, the sensation of Dick’s body gripping to him tightly, the sounds of his muffled voice that fell into moans against his will, the scent of sex in the air, he could lose himself in the dream. _He_ was the one fucking Dick, drawing the gasps and moans from his throat, making his body tremble and writhe. _He_ was the one pushing into Dick’s body, over and over again.

If he just focused on what was real—the friction of their fucking, the steadily rising heat pooling in his groin—that was all that mattered. That was what drove him, that was what made the ecstasy run through his veins, built the pleasure in his body.

Slade wasn’t even a thought anymore.

Joey was fucking Dick with a rough, brutal pace now. He was chasing after that feeling, that need to come and see stars and fill Dick up. The intensity of their fucking rocked the bed, making Dick cry out in an endless stream of sounds. Somewhere in the orchestra of their fucking—bodies colliding, mattress groaning, the heavy breaths and sharp gasps—Joey could hear Dick calling for him, his voice nearly lost in the sheets—

“Joey, stop—”

It wasn’t until Joey was in his father’s body that he realized the depths of his power. Joey pushed Dick that much deeper into the bed. Dick’s arms completely gave out from under him, his entire upper half completely flushed with the mattress. Joey groaned at how easily his cock slid with Dick in that angle, his raised ass perfectly taking in every inch. Dick’s muffled protests and groans only made Joeys’ heart race faster. He felt an urgency in his body, adrenaline in his veins—

He was running out of time. Dick found out who he was. Dick knew. This was Joey’s first and only chance and he wanted nothing more than to savor it but he was running out of time and all it’d take was for his powers to fizzle out to steal everything from him—

His hand reached underneath Dick’s body. Dick jerked against his touch, body seizing up when Joey wrapped his hand around his cock, Dick’s voice raised, his body writhing underneath Joey’s strokes. Dick was moaning like he wanted it, but Joey knew better. Joey was doing this for himself. He was going to take from Dick what his father would never give either of them. Affection. Love. If this was all ruined, if Dick never looked at him again, Joey was at least going to have this—

Dick’s body twisted underneath his, as if both fighting to escape his touch and receive more. Joey quickened his hand, pumping fast, all the while fucking Dick in deep, hard shallow thrusts, Dick’s cock throbbed in his hand, his shoulders shuddering as he moaned—practically cried—into the bed.

“Stop—“

But there was no stopping it. Tremors ran through Dick’s body. He suddenly seized up, his hole tightening around Joey’s cock, hugging him tighter than anything Joey had ever felt. Joey groaned at the feeling.

In moments, thick, hot come filled Joey’s grip, leaking on the bed. Joey continued pumping Dick’s cock, milking his orgasm, until Dick’s body was shuddering and he was whining, begging for him to stop.

“Joey, no—“

Joey’s head spun with pleasure. He thrusted into Dick, more and more. He fucked desperately, insistently, riding off of Dick’s climax. Dick’s tight hot body gripped him, his moans keening as Joey fucked into his overly sensitive body—

Joey had done that. Joey turned him into that. And for a moment, he think he might have understood the power that Slade felt. To turn this man that Joey respected and loved into nothing but a wanton, fucked-out creature.

Joey thrusted impossibly faster, his rhythm tipping off balance. His thrusts were insistent and desperate, driven by a need to come. He fucked Dick so desperately that he began to forget everything. Dick’s cries meant nothing to him. The quivering body underneath him meant nothing to him. There was no guilt and shame, only heat and sweat and the smell of sex—all of it overwhelming his senses. 

Sparks of pleasure raced down his spine. Heat pushed into his groin. His toes were curling. And still he kept going, pushing the limits of the heat and desire that flooded through him, fucking and fucking.

Joey saw white as he finished.

Slade wasn’t hiding. If he was, he wouldn’t have let Joey see him at all. Slade just barely touched the light of Joey’s shadowy balcony, just enough for Joey to spot him.

Joey moved the sliding door of his apartment, stepping out into the cool air. This was the thing he hated most about the capes and masks—the secret conversations on rooftops and in alleyways, the guise underneath the dark, the sneaking around corners, all of it. Joey wished his world wasn’t so cloak-and-dagger, but he supposed if anyone was hiding, it was him.

He’d been avoiding this conversation.

Slade stepped out from the shadows, dressed in his uniform. No doubt, Slade was just passing through on a mission. He’d never go out of his way to talk to Joey about a matter concerning Dick.

Slade skipped the formalities.

“Your little stunt caused a lot of problems.”

Already, Joey’s anger flared.

“Since when do you care?” he signed.

To his surprise, Slade came flying toward him. Slade grabbed him by the collar. Instantly, forgotten feelings sprung up. Joey was rarely the target of his father’s anger—it was Grant who acted as the punching bag. But Joey had experienced enough of the back of his father’s hand and his belt to remember why he was so well-behaved as a child. He tried to stuff away those feelings, but just days ago, he had experienced just how strong Slade was. 

So many years had passed and Joey still couldn’t stand up to his father.

“No one messes with my head. Those days ended the moment my military career came to a close.” Slade released Joey with a shove, hard enough to knock Joey back into the glass, the door trembling under the impact. Even as he rubbed the stinging pain in his shoulder, Joey mustered a glare. Slade snorted. “Don’t give me that look. I never raised you to be a spoiled brat. I had everything set up the way I wanted it, until you had your temper tantrum.”

Joey flipped him off. Slade just shook his head.

“He’s all pissed off, you know. But he’ll come around eventually. Can’t say he’ll do the same for you.”

At the mention of Dick, some of Joey’s fire died down. Joey did feel guilt. Horrible guilt. But it was for what he did to Dick, not to Slade. Slade didn’t give a shit about Dick. Slade was just angry that someone else had exhibited some power over him. He was angry that someone had inconvenienced what was normally an easy lay.

The idea that Dick would probably never forgive him but turn back to Slade—it upset Joey, but he was done taking away from Dick.

It was Dick’s turn to take what he wanted.

Joey was still brooding over his guilt when Slade broke the silence.

“Are you going to at least give me an explanation?” he said.

“Wasn’t it your idea?”

“I was bluffing.” After a pause, Slade added, “Guess you’re more like me than I thought.”

Slade was just trying to get under Joey’s skin again. He knew exactly the way Joey would bristle at those words, how badly Joey would want to fight back.

But Joey didn’t have the energy to argue. More than that, he wasn’t sure if he could. Not after everything he had done. So he stood there for a moment, just feeling defeated.

“I guess there is something I’m curious about.” When Joey looked at him, wondering, Slade continued, “Did you do it for him? Or did you do it because of me?”

The question stunned him. Joey stood there with no answers.

Slade didn’t stick around for Joey to figure it out. He walked past Joey, heading back in the direction of the fire escape from whence he came. On the way, he grabbed Joey on the shoulder. The firm grip felt strange in how reprimanding it was. How fatherly it was. 

Joey remembered that grip.

“Don’t ever pull that again. Stay out of my head,” Slade said firmly.

Joey turned, watching as father ran from him once again, until he finally disappeared into the city. Gone.


End file.
